Notes of Blue and Black

For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD,  "plans to prosper you and not to harm you,  plans to give you hope and a future. – Jeremiah 29:11 I've realized that the more you go up in life, the more you need to let go of things that weigh you down. And the more you want to go up, whether it be in your profession, hobby, or whatever, you need to just start letting go of the things that slow you down, even if you hold them very dear. But how do we know how to do that?  Truth be told, I don't really know how I know. It just happens by the Grace of God. Even in times when I seem to have lost my way, God always finds a way to bring me back to His flock. What a great Shepherd He is!  But every time He wants me to do something, I had to let go of something, much like how a sheep needs to let go of whatever it is doing when it's shepherd calls. Call it an act of Faith, or a Sacrifice; I don't really know what to call it. I just feel like...

“ Color is my day-long obsession, joy, and torment .”  Claude Monet As artists we are, in some way or another, obsessed with different things in life that either consumes or inspires. It pushes us to create more, or less, in order to satisfy this internal need to express something. Other people do everything they can through different channels of expression: working until the wee hours in the morning or playing all sorts of sports that challenge their bodies to their fullest potential. But all in all, we all dwell in this realm of obsession where we feel like we owe it the world to create anything at all.  But what does it mean to be obsessed with something? With people telling us to live a "balanced life", is it still a good, or bad thing to be totally obsessed with one thing? Is it a product of our design, or is it something we take in from the world?  Obsession starts with something; a directive, a push, or a passion that comes from doing something you eit...

It ended with a Sunflower and a gun; It wasn't fun, it wasn't fun, She laid there under the Sun, Motionless beating, "Run," She said, "Run." Baking light at the end of her lips; She curled against the grass' fingertips, She laid there under the Sun, Motionless running, "No," I said, "No."